Shot
by Anonymous033
Summary: Ziva kills someone for the first time since returning from Somalia, and suffers from an emotional and psychological setback. Rated for killing-related topics.


**Summary: Ziva kills someone for the first time since returning from Somalia, and suffers from an emotional and psychological setback.**

**Disclaimer: I once wrote in the sand, "NCIS is _mine_." Then the rain came down and washed it all away...clearly, the universe will not let me own NCIS. :(**

**Spoilers: General NCIS; slight Aliyah and Reunion, major Truth or Consequences and Good Cop, Bad Cop.**

**Warning: This fic deals, albeit not a lot, with the morally grey area of their shooting and killing people. It _may _make you feel uncomfortable. You have been warned!**

**Okay, this is one of those stories that I've taken three days to write because I'm just not satisfied with it (and I haven't had any other such story). At this point I give up, lol! So I just hope you enjoy it. :) And yes, Ziva's emotions are meant to be all over the place.**

**Please review!**

**-S_ophie_**

**P.S. I am aware that the agents have to have a session with a psychologist after shooting someone; but in the story, Ziva hasn't had hers yet.**

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><p><strong>Shot<strong>

He barely has time to swing around wildly before a shot rings out beside him, and the suspect crumples to the ground before his very eyes. His own bullet is the fraction of a second too slow; he sees the indent it makes in the wall behind the fallen suspect.

His life is safe, for now. As is hers. One look at her face, though, tells him that she is anything but safe.

She's pale and breathing heavily. Her figure is frozen to its spot, arms extended and eyes wide. He doesn't dare call to her; he knows that in this state, she could very well shoot him. One of his colleagues had died that way in the hands of another Baltimore cop. Adrenaline can do strange and unpredictable things to people.

She stays that way for an incalculable period of time. And then slowly, very slowly, she lowers her gun and looks at him. Her breathing's no longer heavy. Her eyes are still wide. He shuffles forward uncertainly and removes the gun from her loose grip.

"It's okay," he tells her. A soft whimper escapes her throat, and she turns stiffly to walk out of the building. He follows her, watching her back, keeping an eye out for more gun-wielding lunatics.

There are none. Suspect terminated, there is no longer anyone to threaten them.

They are safe; except she isn't, not really.

xoxo

For some reason, the ride back to the Navy Yard is enough to make her transition from terrified to furious.

She slams the door of the car shut after she makes her way out of it, and even though he'd been expecting it, his heart still clenches terribly. He watches her back as she strides away from him, too incensed to even be in his presence. Suddenly, he feels so lonely.

He eventually finds the strength to drag himself back to the bullpen. He's late, of course, and the headslap from Gibbs is probably well-deserved; but he can't bring himself to care as he stares at the impassive face of Ziva, who focuses determinedly on her computer.

_What the hell is going on with her?_

xoxo

Somehow, they make it through the day. Somehow, he doesn't burst into tears and she doesn't rip him up from limb to limb. The amount of Nutter Butter wrappers littering McGee's desk is probably testament to the high level of tension in the bullpen, though.

By the time they gather their backpacks and head towards the elevator to go home, she's already calmed down enough and he's already packed away enough of his grief for them to at least stand civilly next to each other. He can sense faint waves of annoyance radiating off her as they wait for the _ding _of the silver box, but that he can handle; she's annoyed with him on a regular basis.

Well, she used to be. Until that time, not half a year ago, when she'd actually gotten _angry _at him. Until that time a few months ago, when he'd sat opposite a woman who was so broken that she couldn't be angry at anything – let alone him. Until that time a few weeks ago when she'd kissed him on the cheek and said that what _does _matter is that he has her back.

He'd thought that they'd be okay.

His misery returns in full force, and she must've noticed because she stiffens. She shoots him a look that, thankfully, is too masked for him to make anything of it; and steps into the newly arrived elevator without waiting for him. He follows her only because it must be more painful to watch the doors close on him.

xoxo

It hurts to return home alone.

It always does, although he feels it more acutely tonight. He looks around his apartment as he fishes a beer out of the fridge and crashes down onto his couch, not bothering to change out of his ironed suit. Ziva had used to come over occasionally, and although he had always been surprised because it was still the exception rather than the norm, the pizza box in her hands and the smile on her lips had always made her welcomed.

He rather misses that pizza box; although if he is to look closely, it is not the box he misses so much as the symbolism of their food-sharing. He rather misses that beautiful smile.

He curls into the couch; an unusual habit that he realizes only manifests itself when he's thinking of her. He's not quite sure what to make of it. His guess is that it's vaguely emasculating, but the only other option is to seek her out, and he doesn't know if his heart is up for the inevitable rejection.

He jumps when his phone rings, and he digs it out of his pocket, checking the caller ID. He blinks, surprised, but puts the phone to his ear anyway.

"I'm sorry," she says as soon as he answers. For a moment he wonders if she's going to continue with, _I pressed the wrong number_.

She doesn't continue and he's too tired to wait it out, so he simply says, "For what?"

There is a pause on the line. "For being angry." And he knows then that she must be _really _repentant, because she rarely ever apologizes for so trivial a matter.

That, in turn, ticks him off a bit; because he doesn't want her anger or her apology. All he wants is her explanation. "I don't really care either way, Ziva," he tells her, and if a person can hear another flinch over a phone line, then that must've been what he heard. "I just wanna know what the hell happened."

There is another pause, and to his everlasting amazement, she doesn't hang up. "You mean on the field…or at the Navy Yard?"

"Both. And maybe what happened on the car ride in between too."

"Hmm." He can sense her internal debate as to whether to come clean. "I hadn't…shot anyone since I came back from…the…terrorist camp."

"Oh." He's starting to regret his request of her.

"It was…hard."

He hears her breathing suddenly grow more erratic. "Ziva?"

"Mmm?" she manages breathlessly.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," she answers, and he might believe her if she hadn't gasped it out.

"I'm going over."

"No."

"I'm going over. Stay put." He's halfway off the couch before he remembers something. "You're in your apartment, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll be right there. Stay put."

xoxo

He reaches her place in record time, but it's obvious that she's calmed down by then because the head that pokes out of her door looks perfectly composed.

"Oh," he says as he stares into her eyes, because he's not sure what he's doing there anymore.

She smiles in a way that seems sad to him, but that may just be a figment of his imagination. "I am okay, Tony."

"Then what was that over-the-phone freak-out episode about?"

"It was not a _freak-out _episode. I was…just a little scared."

"Of what?"

"This and that." He hates the wariness her tone takes on.

"Ziva, can I go in?"

She hesitates and turns her head to look over her shoulder, as if she's not sure what her own apartment holds. "It's a little messy right now."

He raises his eyebrows, and she rolls her eyes because she knows he hasn't bought her lie. "I would just prefer if you did not come in."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you."

That piques his curiosity, and he peers past her head into the small sliver of her apartment that he can see. The door slams shut in his face.

He lets out a breath and slumps against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor. Maybe he'll just sleep out in her hallway tonight. He's pretty sure that she won't care.

The door opens again, and her head pokes out again. She takes one look at him and sighs from the very depths of her soul. "Get up," she says, looping a hand under his arm and practically hauling him up. He stands up unsteadily, and she swings the door open to let him in.

He's halfway through the hallway before he stops and gapes. Her apartment, which he so loves, looks like an interior designer's worst nightmare; with ripped wallpaper and broken glass and cotton bits lying all over the place. He swings his head around to look at her; she shrugs and steps past him. "You wanted to come in." Her voice is tight. "You wanted to see. Well, see."

"What happened?"

"I got a little carried away with my anger." She gives him a short nod. "Now you can leave, yes?"

"And let you stay in this…this…" He waves his hands around, unable to find words to describe the scene.

"It is still my apartment."

"I have intact pillows at my place."

"I have intact pillows too. The destruction is mostly limited to the…um…to this area."

"_Why is there destruction?_"

"I told you, I-"

"I know you got carried away. But why were you angry?"

"Because I shot a man, Tony!"

"You have shot plenty of people before!"

She flinches violently, and the room falls silent. She glares at him with hurt in her eyes, and he can't help but to stare back in confusion; because she _has _shot plenty of people before, and she knows that better than he does.

Finally she drops her gaze. "I was not…counting on having to do it again so soon." She swallows, blinking rapidly.

_So that's why she's hurting?_

He inches forward and carefully puts his arms around her. She lifts a hand and he braces for an attack, but instead she simply drops it and rests her forehead against his chest, sighing.

"Why couldn't you have done it?" she questions through gritted teeth.

"I was facing the other direction. That's what we do, Zi; you cover one side, I cover the other. You know that."

"I know."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Because…if you had shot him, then I wouldn't have had to shoot him."

"That's what you were mad at me for? Not shooting the guy?"

She takes a moment before answering. "Yes."

"That's a bit unfair, don't you think?"

She disentangles herself from him and hugs herself, steadfastly avoiding his eyes. "I needed something to be angry at."

"Why? Why did you need to be angry at all? I get that it's the first time since-"

"No, you don't get it. And you would never, no one would."

"Try me." She hisses and hits his chest angrily. "Ziva!" he coughs out indignantly.

"Stop asking questions!"

"Stop avoiding them." He catches hold of her hand before it makes contact with his chest for the second time. "You know this will do you good."

"Who are you, my therapist?"

"No. I'm your partner."

A choked sob escapes her lips before she realizes it, and her hand drops to her side; limp, defeated, tired. "You _shouldn't _be."

"What do you mean I shouldn't be? I am; there's no 'should' or 'shouldn't' about it."

She blinks at the floor, weighing her words. "Tony, what good would it do to have a killer as your partner?"

"What?"

She raises her head, tears glimmering in her brown orbs. "What good would it do? To have me, a…a killer, a _monster_, as your partner? How could you stay sane after seeing all the death that comes by my hands?"

"Ziva, you _saved_ _our lives_ today."

"By taking another man's."

"Ziva…" He gives in to his urge now and draws her to him, gently brushing away her tears. She shudders violently against his palm. "If you hadn't shot the guy we'd be dead. You get that, right?"

"I know. I g-get it."

"Then what's bugging you?"

"Gibbs said…that day, when Malachi came to NCIS. Gibbs said that the killer side of me had died in Somalia. But it hasn't." She bites her lip as she holds back another sob. "And I know that it is a childish argument since I would probably have had to kill someone eventually if I am to stay at NCIS, but…it is too soon. I have not reconciled myself to all the death that I have brought about over the years.

"Tony, I am…nothing but a killer." She swallows back her tears. "I…did a tally of t-the number of killings t-that I have done…the number is higher than I would like to know. And I…don't even remember all of their names anymore. I t-took their lives, and I don't remember what their friends and family called them. The man I shot today…he had a life. And I…took it."

She draws in a deep breath and backs away, wiping furiously at her face. "I d-don't know what else I can say. To make this…clear to you. So…you better go."

He stands stock-still, watching her. She is trembling; she tries hard not to show it, but he can see the tiny movements. He knows that the moment he walks out of the door, she will break down and shatter into pieces. And he can't let that happen.

So he moves to her instead and wraps his arms around her again, and suddenly he finds that she's shaking in his embrace, crying over the years of guilt that have plagued her.

xoxo

He doesn't know how long they stand there; he doesn't know how long it takes before her shaking stops. She is quiet when she stops crying, and she stares off into the distance, her eyes haunted and dry. He rubs her arm lightly and takes up her hand. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" she asks tiredly, looking up at him.

"To my place. I'll help you clean this up tomorrow." He waves his hand in the general direction of the destruction.

"It's fine." She shakes her head, already dismissing him.

"No. It'll do you good to get away for a bit." He threads his fingers in between hers and smiles encouragingly. "And I have nachos if you get hungry. Come on."

She purses her lips before nodding reluctantly and allowing him to lead her out of the apartment.

xoxo

She falls asleep on the car ride back to his place; worn out from all the emotions she has gone through. She doesn't wake up even as he pulls into his designated lot and shuts off the engine, and for a moment he debates between waking her up and having her climb up the stairs to his apartment by herself, and simply carrying her all the way up by himself. He settles for rousing her.

The hazy expression that comes across her face as her eyes slowly open makes him smile as he says quietly, "We're here."

She looks out of the windshield with sleepy surprise. "I fell asleep."

"Yeah."

She doesn't say a word as they make their way to his apartment, and he's barely unlocked the door and toed off his shoes before she finds his couch and curls up into a ball on it, closing her eyes again. He represses his laughter and calls to her. She opens her eyes.

"Take my bed."

"It's _your _bed."

"I know. I bought it. Go sleep in it if you're tired. I'll order dinner and get you when it's delivered."

"I don't want dinner."

"Go sleep in my bed anyway."

She makes a sleepy noise of frustration before standing up. Then she sighs and rubs her eyes. "Thanks." She pads off to his bedroom, closing the door behind her.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to order pizza for two.

xoxo

She's still sleeping when the pizza arrives, and he's already three quarters of the way through his share and an hour into a movie with the volume on low before she emerges from his room, looking more refreshed but still emotionally drained. She sinks down beside him on the couch and he stretches forward to pick up the pizza box.

He hands it to her. She looks at him in puzzlement. "I thought…"

"I know. Figured you'd be hungry anyway; got it just in case."

"Oh." She hesitantly takes the box from him, a smile curling the corners of her lips. "Thanks."

"No problem."

She finishes off her last slice of pizza just as the movie ends, and he clears away the trash before settling back down next to her and hugging her to him. She leans her head tiredly against his shoulder, apparently unable to find the energy or will to fight him off.

"You're not a monster, Zi," he starts, and she stiffens. "You're not. And you're _not _nothing but a killer. I mean are you kidding me? All those bombs you've defused and missions you've gone on. Terrorist cells you've infiltrated and everything. I know a lot of people die then, but a lot of people survive too. Because of what you do." She is quiet. "And they're good people whom you don't know the names of. You just save them because you love your country and want it to be a safe place. There's nothing nobler than that."

"_I kill people,_ Tony."

"Yeah, we do. Sometimes saving others comes at a price. But we don't take a machine gun out into the street and start shooting at everyone in sight. Did you ever think that that's what separates us from the bad guys?"

"Is it enough, honestly?"

He leans his head against hers as he thinks about it. "I don't know. But I do know that it's what we have to do. When you're staring a bad guy down you have a split second to make a decision, and there's not a lot of time to wonder about the morality of it then."

"And that makes it alright?"

He licks his lips. "No…it makes it necessary, maybe. Zi…we save people too, y'know. Think about all the kidnapping cases we've solved. The future killings we prevent. Every time you pick a lock or McGee works his magic computer skills or I get in contact with some cop buddy from Baltimore, something changes. A life is saved, a death is given meaning. Some family gets closure. Even when you were working in Mossad, those missions saved thousands of lives. You don't go out and kill just for fun, and that makes a hell lotta difference from what the bad guys do."

"You are saying…that intention makes a difference."

"Yeah. I guess I am."

"Oh."

He lifts his head and looks down at her; rubs her arm in the same way that he had earlier, and she hums against his shoulder. "You're a great person, Ziva."

Her eyes snap up to his in shock. He swallows nervously and looks away before he continues. "I know you had a bad past. But you're out of it now, and anyway you always wanted to do the right thing. We see that – Gibbs and I, and McGee, and Abby. We know you have a good heart. And I – we…admire you for it."

He looks down again to find a small smile sitting on her lips; for the first time, he sees relief shining in her eyes. "Thank you, Tony."

"You know I mean it."

"I know." He sees a thought flit through her eyes, and then suddenly she moves up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. "Thank you."

He smiles. "You're welcome."

"For everything."

"I know."


End file.
